Haymitch: My Story
by StubbornLove
Summary: Haymitch Abernathy wasn't always a drunken, careless, arrogant man. He was once a young, compassionate, loved boy. But when his name was drawn and he was forced to compete in the 50th annual Hunger Games - he changed. Nobody knows who Haymitch truly is. Until now...
1. Chapter 1

Throughout the fanfic certain characters are extracted from the Hunger Games trilogy. I do not own these characters. Although some are not. Some characters belong to me. They are mine. Please respect that. I want this fanfic to be more than a blurb of Haymitch's life. How long, I do not know... Nevertheless, I really hope you enjoy! Happy reading :)

Haymitch: My Story

Chapter 1: My life before the games

I must have been awake all night. I can hear the birds singing, reminding District 12 it's time to wake up. But I don't want to wake up. I'd rather lay in my perfectly nice, little uncomfortable bed and risk getting cramp than face today. So I listen to the bird's song and let my mind take over.

I think about my life in the Seam and stretch my thoughts right back to the happiest memory I can recall: my mother and father announcing I was going to have a little brother. I had just turned three and it was one of the happiest days of my life. I was so excitment to have someone to play with, a little brother to talk to while mother was cleaning and father was drunk. To this day me and Troy are inseparable: always causing smiles, laughs and mayhem where ever we go. We're a package deal.

To the close knit community of District 12, my family used to be perfect despite our living in the seam. My father was very charming and funny; my mother was very beautiful; I have always been very smart; and Troy is very creative, always conjuring up some sort of sculpture or colorful painting with wild berries. Family time was the best time...

That's why shocked faces and gossip whispers appeared when my father, of all people the down-to-earth charmer, drank himself to death.

Of course my mother and I, and maybe even Troy, saw it coming. Father would come home at all hours in a drunken mess, singing a song that would awaken us all. At first, it just seemed like a pass time for him, but after a while drink became his life. The white liquor father brought home became his sent, his perfume, and the bottles stacked up, forming an unmissable pile.

I guess everyone has secrets. But secrets don't last. Your whole life lies out to your District until your life is no more.

My father is no more.

After that, me, mother and Troy did our best to survive in our small, half wooden hut. We smiled and waved to the neighbors but fooled nobody. And even though almost three years have passed, I sometimes hear the hushed voices of women whisper, "I don't know how Cassandra's doing it, I wouldn't be able to cope if my husband did such a thing!" But that's just it, mother isn't coping. She's sick. Mother's lost - or 'away with the birds' as psychiatrists would say. If we could afford to go see one...

The sun has fully risen and the bird's songs are dimming down to a small noise. I climb out of bed and look in my old mirror, worn with age, and examined what horror a sleepless night has left me.

I look at my reflection. I look into the face a 16 year old boy. His tanned skin is dry. His forehead is creased and aged with stress. His hair is dark, slightly wavy and full of life. His eyes are grey and worn out and bellow are black circles. He's got the seam look. This is me, Haymitch Abernathy. Take it or leave it.

I stroke the dark circles under my eyes. "Urgh, how am I going to pull these off?"

"Why," a young voice comes from the hallway. "Are you worried 'Mandy' will break up with you because you're ugly?!"

"Oh, shut up Troy!" I turn quick and scoop him up over my shoulder. His small legs kick the air and he thumps my back with clenched fists as I walk into our kitchen. "The only reason Mandy would ever break up with me is so she wouldn't have to put up with you!" I set him down at our table. "I mean...look at me."

"I hit a soft spot there, didn't I." Troy laughs.

I mimic his voice and lay out three chipped plates on the table top.

"You're going to see Mandy today, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," I answer as I butter the last of our bread. But when I look up, Troy's looking down at his feet, dissapointed. "But I won't be too long! So we can do something when I come back."

Troy looks up and smiles. "Yeah!"

I am the man of the house now. I work after school: lifting sacks at the local bakery. I cook what I can and clean with what time I have left. It's a wonder how I have the time to have a girlfriend like Mandy...

"I'll go wake mother," chirps Troy. He pounces off looking like a younger me, like a younger father.

A few minutes later, mother limps in with a helping hand from Troy. She isn't as beautiful anymore. Her blonde hair lays limp, her pale skin's dull and her green eyes don't shine anymore. She rarely talks but loves our company. Sometimes Troy brings her another one of his paintings, attempting to make our mother smile. She doesn't. But he's never upset about it, because just for a second, her eyes always light up. Only a little - but it's there!

I butter the last slice of bread and hand it to mother. She nibbles the corners and gives the rest to Troy.

Later that day I meet Mandy in our town's square. Mandy's family is a little richer than mine, one of the wealthiest in District 12, so they live in a bigger house, outside of the Seam. But me being poor doesn't bother her. We go for a walk, hand-in-hand, down the green fields, and eventually settle down under the shade of a large oak tree. The trees dance in the breeze; the grass is colored in wild flowers. This place is quite, so we aren't likely to be walked in on: an often place for romance.

I take advantage of this and place her lips on mine.

Mandy's blonde hair is as bright as the sun: her eyes as green as the grass and her skin as fair as snow with a single freckle placed on her nose. Mandy's appearance really stands out with the grey eyes and tanned skin of the Seam. She's beautiful.

We lay down on a patchwork quilt she placed on the ground, hand-in-hand; time passes with the breeze. How much I'll miss these arms if anything were to happen...

I lose myself in her emerald eyes as she caresses my cheek. "What's on your mind?" she whispers.

My lips kiss her nose. "You," I mutter, "as always."

Mandy giggles and smiles her stunning smile. "I thought...I thought maybe you were thinking about tomorrow..." Her smile fades.

"I was last night...a little. Troy's very scared."

"It's his first time in the reaping. His name isn't going to be drawn, Haymitch."

"I hope so. I've only let his name go in twice." I pause. "I don't know how many times my name mine has gone in. Enough…"

"Don't," Mandy butts in. "Don't say that. Don't even think that! You'll be fine. You're staying right here with me!" She folds her arms, and places her head on my lap. As she stares into the blue, care free sky I stroke her wave like hair.

"I'll always be with you. In or out of the Hunger Games. Even if it is a Quarter Quell…"

"I'm worried about this year's Quarter Quell, Haymitch" she sighs. "It's hard enough watching two children from our District fight 'till the death - let alone four." I'm sure Mandy was trying hard not to cry, but her voice slipped somewhere, and now she's gently sobbing.

"I know, I know," I whisper soothingly.

It's true - I do know. I know having twice the amount of children in the Hunger Games will make the games twice as violent and twice as entertaining for the capitol and its citizens. Troy cries endlessly when a single child is murdered, and this year he'll have to watch twice as much blood and gore and guts... Viewing of the games is not voluntary.

Mandy sits up, places her small, pale hands on either side of my face and breathes, "Are you ready?"

Her eyes are worried and I know what I have to say. "I'm ready."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Reaping

It's the day of the reaping and District 12 is quiet. I didn't wake up to singing birds; I woke to Peacekeepers noisily moving equipment for today's ceremony. I don't have enough middle fingers to express my hatred for Peacekeepers. And the hot sun gives a false sense of security; we all know four dammed teenagers will be doomed to their deaths.

The odds aren't usually in District 12's favor…

Mother lays out special clothes for the reaping, as she does every year, while me and Troy wash and eat what little breakfast we can. Then the three of us - Troy, mother and I - walk down to the town square hand-in-hand. And by the time we reach the town square, almost the whole of District 12 has arrived.

After being signed in, having our finger's pricked and standing in our places the reaping begins. I can feel Troy's anxiousness; I can hear his worried thoughts; I can see the terrible future he is so afraid of, how ever short it may be. But I would sooner be dammed than watch my brother fight in the games. The Hunger Games. So I just pray, with everything that's in me, Troy and Mandy will be safe.

I cross my fingers and hope for the best. "Please, please not them," I whisper.

Sooner rather than later, Clethra Lutem is center stage and ready to start the annual reaping. Clethra Lutem is the District 12 escort, and resembles an elaborate, golden, somewhat cheap trophy. Although being from the Capitol, Clethra's style may be considered … calm. Everything about her appearance is Gold, and is no doubt plastic and fake: gold shimmering skin, shiny gold eyes, surgically altered gold lips, a curly gold wig, long gold nails, a tight gold dress and a pair of tall gold-studded heals. Gold, gold, gold. And after a quick video from President Snow, the dreaded reaping begins.

A voice with the Capitol accent, Clethra Lutem's accent, rings out and booms through the town square. "Good morning men, women and children of District 12. My name's Clethra Lutem, as you all know, and I'll be your escort for this year's Hunger Games!" She holds her hand up and wears an over-the-top smile. Her hand falters mid-air and for a moment Clethra pauses, probably waiting for a round of applause, but as nobody cares, she proceeds.

"As you know, every 25 years Panem holds a special edition of the Hunger Games called the Quarter Quell. And this year's Quarter Quell sacrifices not two, but four - that's double for you who don't know - courageous young men and women to serve in honour of your District." A giggle squeaks into the microphone and she frees a smile which nobody returns. After a small pause, Clethra's golden hand shoots straight into the bowl of possible female tribute's names. "Now then, let's get started!"

I whisper so low I doubt Troy can hear me. "Please not, Mandy. Please."

And to my cold-blooded relief, the named called is isn't my Mandy's, but Maysilee Donner.

I know Maysilee. Not personally, but she's hard to miss with her bubbly personality, bright smile and long blonde hair. It's more than a shame, really. I don't want to watch someone as pure hearted as Maysilee be murdered on national television. But I don't have a choice. None of us do...

Two girls on either side of the new tribute weep and hold Maysilee in such a tight embrace I'm certain she can't breathe. I recognize them both: Maysilee's twin sister and best friend, both as blonde as the other. Soon, the peacekeepers decide enough is enough, and the two are forced to take their places while Maysilee stumbles towards the stage. Small and fragile she is, Maysilee walks to her death, her blonde curls bouncing even now.

Clethra's shimmering gold hand dives into the bowl of possible tributes twice more, calling the names Andrea-Lea Hepburn and Edward Richards. I've not spoken to either of them, but I've seen Andrea around my neighborhood and Edward at the bakery. The three tributes - Maysilee Donner, Andrea-Lea Hepburn and Edward Richards - stand on the stage, as oposite as the other, as they wait for the fourth tribute's name to be drawn.

Sweat dampens my forehead and an echo Troy's laugh downs my thoughts as Clethra's hand sores into the possible male tributes bowl for the last time this year. I grasp Troy's hand. "Please not Troy. Please..."

And, can you believe it, my praying seems to have worked. It isn't Troy's name boombing through District 12, it isn't Troy's name drawn and shouted into the microphone, it is my name.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

At first I'm relieved. It's not Troy, and that's what I wished for - that's what I wanted. But that doesn't make it any less harder, any less impossible to let go of Troy's hand, to push his small body away as he's kicking and screaming and calling my name. I can't hear his sobs; I can't hear anything. It takes everything in me, every rush of love and hope I have for my brother, to turn my back on Troy - to turn my back on my District, my home - and walk towards the stage. To walk to my death. Alone. I don't want Peacekeepers man-handling me.

One thing's clear...I forgot to pray for myself.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Capitol

Standing in the Justice building, I think what my final words to my love ones will be. I have never underestimated how difficult it would be to say goodbye to my family and friends, but being in the situation is an entirely different concept. I have no other choice but to think the unthinkable. What will I say to Troy and Mandy and mother? It's not like some test I can study for; I haven't planned and written out a scripted speech. I don't know if it's the panic or the shock, but nothing comes to mind.

I look out of the window, out at the cracked floors of District 12. I guess I'll just wing it…

After some time, my loved ones start to come through the tall oak double doors. First in is my mother and Troy. Troy runs across the room, trodding dirt on the purple carpet, shouting my name. And this time I can hear him. I can hear my little brother shouting, desperatly shouting my name as if his life depends upon it. Troy crashes into my torso and wraps his arms around my sides. I squeeze him once and crouch down onto my knees till we're face-to-face.

"Don't be upset, Troy," I say.

Troy shakes his head, "But you're going. They're taking you away." A small sob shakes his small body. "They can't take you away!"

"Stop," my voice is firm. "Troy, they're going to. They're going to take me away any minute now. There's nothing we can do about it. If I could, I would."

His watery eyes look into mine and he nods his head. "I know you would. I know." And suddenly, he stands up straight, as strong as a ten year old can, and turns to mother.

I look up and see her slim frame stood by the large oak doors. Her now dull green eyes find mine, and just for a second, her pale lips curl up into a small smile. I stand, squeeze Troy's shoulder, and walk over to mother. My arms are around her, safe and sound. Not a sob escapes her lips, not a noise. But warmth, a motherly warmth I've been starved of so many years, radiates from her. And I'm happy, just for them few seconds, that I got to see my mother again, as much of her that's left, even if it is for the last time.

Slam! The oak doors bang open, skimming my mother's back. Peacekeepers swarm in. I pull my mother away quickly, trying to protect her from the armed peacekeepers attempting to pick and pry and snatch her away from me. I hear Troy's shouts and turn and see him trashing in the arms of white masked peacekeepers. Then, as quick as a blink of an eye, mother is ripped out of my arms and her and Troy are being draggout out of the door, Troy's feet scraping across the already muddy purple carpet. Mother's face is calm and composed, her cracked lips frozen in the echo of a smile. But Troy's face is paniced, his mouth open, ready to speak - until it's too late. The doors close.

I'll never see my family again.

I stand in the middle of the large room, frozen with grief.

A little while later, in what could be minutes or hours or years, the doors open again. Mandy walks into the room and closes the large oak door. She isn't surrounded by peacekeepers; there aren't grown men and women in white masks holding guns on each of her pale arms. She's on her own. We're on our own.

I fall to my knees and kneel before her. Mandy looks down at me, her eyes a pool of green. Those emerald eyes I'll miss so much. My hands find hers and my lips brush against the back of her palm, my tears soaking her pale skin.

"Haymitch," her sweet voice croaks. She sinks to her knees, down to my level and brushes her lips against mine. They're wet with tears: with grief and loss that can't be contained.

"Mandy..." I caresses her cheek. "I'm so sorry, Mandy."

"I love you, Haymitch." Her emerald eyes glow, "Don't forget that. In **and **out of the Hunger Games. Even if it is a Quarter Quel..."

I nod my head pathetically. "I love you. So much..."

The oak doors open, but no peacekeepers appear. I look around in panic. I don't want Mandy to go. She can't. But she does. Mandy stands and takes a few steps backwards towards to door, keeping her eyes on me.

Before she turns, I stand, too. "I'm going to come back!" I shout. "I'm coming home to you, Mandy."

She smiles her coy smile one last time and turns her back to me. As she walks out of the door, I sob. But Mandy doesn't turn around again.

The doors close for the last time.

The next few hours are a blur. I'm marched down to the train station by Peacekeepers. The streets are empty now, quiet, all families locked in their homes, grieving or celebrating. Most have another year with their children. Some don't.

When I reach the train station I'm pushed into a sleek, silver train. It's elaborate, the most expensive thing I've ever seen. Cakes resemble jewls; bottled drinks contain what must be liquid gold. But it's hard to apreciate anything material when my whole life has been taken away from me. And it's impossible to appreciate anything on the train when it's very home is the reason my life has been taken.

I'm greeted by an over enthusiastic Clethra Lutem and three silent tributes: Andrea-Lea Hepburn, Edward Richards and Maysilee Donner. Clethra sits us down at a long, grand, mahogany dining table decorated with every food imaginable: enough food to feed my family, let alone my whole district. But I don't touch anything. Neither do the other tributes. Our stomachs can't take it. And we sneer at the decorative food that probably wont be eaten. How the Capitol people take such things for granted when each of our families and our district - our home - goes through such hardship with a lack of food every day.

Every single day.

Even Maysilee, as innocent and charming as she may be, doesn't touch anything. She kindly says no to any food offered but can't keep the look of disgust off her small, heart shaped face.

After what seems hours I leave the table, awkward and silent as it was, and find my temporary room; I don't feel like bonding and making small chit-chat with people I'm aiming to kill. Kill. It's going to happen... I bury my face in the fluffy, soft white pillow and prepare myself for the nightmeares to come.

The train ride is quick as I anticipated. I spend the first day and night grieving loved ones. But when morning comes, I'm woken with a scream. Maybe it's another tribute waking from a night terror, or maybe it's me... Oh, well. I don't bother showering because it's only a traveling day. I just change into something comfortable and go to breakfast.

The dining cart holds a large wooden table with all the food imaginable towering upon its surface. The smell is enticing; my mouth waters. Hurrying over to the table, I fill my plate with as much food possible and sit down. And while I'm helping myself to seconds, Maysilee silently walks into the room. She freezes for a second when she sees me, as do I, but eventually she hesitantly piles fresh fruit onto her plate before taking a seat. And even though she sits as far away from me as possible, I can still feel the tension.

After a while of awkward silence, I look up, and her pale blue eyes meet mine. I'm shocked; she doesn't look the other way when I find her staring at me. Instead, she looks right at me, and seems to be deciding whether to say something.

Eventually she does. "Rough night?" Maysilee asks.

I'm taken aback. What kind of question is that? "No, Maysilee, believe it or not I had the best night's sleep of my life!" I smile sarcastically. Oh, you've got to love sarcasm.

Surprisingly, she just laughs, revealing the lonely dimple in her right cheek. "I just wondered... Was that you this morning? I heard someone scream."

"I don't know," I say honestly. It's true, I still don't know if it was me this morning. Maybe it was. But this year we have another two tributes to consider. "You like to ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

Now she looks down at her hands.

In a matter of minutes Clethra and Andrea- Lea are both placed at the table. Clethra sips her coffee while Andrea-Lea gawks at the piles food, no doubt confused on what to try first. Edward's nowhere to be seen but it's still too crowded for my liking, so I leave the table without saying another word and lock myself in my room, slamming the door to make it clear know I don't want any company.

I fall to sleep, probably from boredom, and wake with another scream. So maybe it was me this morning... It's almost eleven at night and my body's stiff from staying still all day.

I decide to take a walk through the train. As I'm walking through the thin corridors with no aim of where I'm going, I run into Edward. Considering we're not the small-talk kind of guys it's not as awkward as it could be, but what with the corridors being so thin, and us both being quite big, we couldn't cross. I looked to my side and saw a door, I don't know where it goes, but, to be honest, any unknown room seems more pleasent than this situation, so I open the door and step out of the way for Edward to walk past.

But I was wrong. Walking into Maysilee's cabin in the dead of night is much more awkward than a squeeze with Edward. Maysilee's awkwe, sat up on her bed, looking out of the window. She's dressed in a soft, petal pink silk nightgown and her hair falls in blonde ringlets and waves down her slim back.

As silently as I possibly can, I open the door. But it's not quiet enough. A small creek breaks through the silence; it sounds a lot louder than it actually is.

Maysilee spins around and gasps, "Who's there?" Her eyes meet mine. "Oh...Haymitch. What are you doing?"

"I - I ran into Edward - it was a little awkward so - so I just opened the door. I'm sorry I -"

Maysilee softly shakes her head. "It's fine, Haymitch," she smiles weakly. "I understand." Strings of light hair fall across her face, and as she moves them out of her eyes, I notice her face is shining with tears. "It's okay."

"But are you? Are you okay, I mean?"

"I'll be fine," she whispers. Maysilee catches my eye and I know we are both thinking the same thing - the only thing we're certain of anymore is that it's never going to be okay.

We're silent for a second. The only light in the room is from the white moon outside, sending sliver beams through her cabin and shining off her light hair. "Couldn't sleep?" I ask.

"No, Haymitch, believe it or not I had the best night's sleep of my life!" Maysilee smiles sarcastically, her voice soft and sweet. "Actually," she continues on a more serious note, "I wanted to see the stars. I've heard the Capitol's atmosphere prevents you from seeing them. I just had to look. One last time..."

I walk forward and peer out of her small window. Now she mentions it, the sky is quite beautiful tonight. Peaceful. I nod my head in agreement and we stay like this for a while, Maysile sat on her bed, chin on knees, and me standing, not saying a word.

- End of part one -


End file.
